booktalesy Chapter 297 Retaliation for Sending Out Badges
Chapter 297 Retaliation for Sending Out Badges
Chapter 297 Retaliation for Sending Out Badges (5.4K) (1/2)
When the black smoke touched the badge's cold surface, a powerful suction force was generated on the badge. The swirling black smoke was captured by an invisible vortex and sucked into the small badge.
As the last wisp of black smoke disappeared into the badge, the dull luster on the badge's surface seemed to shift slightly, and the outline of the clenched fist pointing to the sky glowed faintly before quickly fading away, returning to its seemingly ordinary metal badge appearance.
The alchemy room fell completely silent, with only Lynch's steady breathing remaining.
He stared intently at the badge that had absorbed the black smoke, his gaze deep.
He then put it away, turned around, walked steadily down the stairs, put on his suit jacket, pushed open the door of the stone house, and disappeared into the night of the Forbidden Forest.
His figure moved swiftly through the trees, without using any conspicuous magic, relying solely on his familiarity with the terrain and his superhuman agility to move towards the border of Hogwarts.
Moonlight occasionally filtered through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating the fleeting silhouette of his gray suit.
Before long, he arrived near the magical border surrounding the school.
The air here is noticeably colder and more oppressive, carrying a unique sense of gloom.
Lin Qi stopped and stood quietly in the shade of an ancient tree, as if waiting.
Less than five minutes later, a cold, unsettling aura wafted out from the side and front.
A tall figure draped in a tattered black cloak silently emerged from the darkness not far away, hovering a few inches off the ground—it was a patrolling Dementor.
Lynch silently cast "Soul Armor," shutting out the despairing chill naturally emanating from the Dementors, and then stepped out of the shadows.
The Dementor also sensed his presence; the nothingness beneath its hood turned toward him, but did not immediately approach.
Lynch looked at it, his voice clearly piercing the silence: "Call your leader."
The Dementor paused for a few seconds, then slid backward into the darkness like ink being wiped away, disappearing without a trace.
Lynch stayed where he was and waited patiently.
About ten minutes later, the darkness ahead became even thicker, and the air seemed to freeze.
A Dementor appeared silently in front of Lynch.
The chilling and despair emanating from it subtly transcended its individual nature; it was none other than the Dementor leader who had previously made a deal with Lynch.
Without saying anything more, Lin Qi took out the Stone Tower Merchant Guild badge from the inside pocket of his jacket, spread it out in his palm, and showed it to the Dementor leader.
"Remember this badge, remember its unique aura." Lynch's voice was calm and clear. "When you see it again, no matter who it's wearing, attack that person immediately."
The Dementor leader's tattered cloak fluttered even without wind, and the nothingness beneath the hood seemed to be "gazing" more intently at the badge.
Lynch then added, emphasizing, "But you can't kill the wearer. He can endure pain, he can feel despair, but he must live. Understand?"
The Dementor leader was silent for a moment, then the hem of its tattered black cloak rippled considerably, as if an invisible wind had blown by.
Lin Qi looked at the clear response and put away the badge.
"Remember your promise."
Having said that, he didn't linger, turned and left the border, his figure quickly disappearing into the direction of the Forbidden Forest. The Dementor leader paused for a moment, then silently merged into the darkness.
The next afternoon, the weather remained gloomy.
Harry received a note at noon, asking him to go to Professor Lynch's office after class. Seeing the familiar handwriting, Harry felt inexplicably at ease.
He knocked on the door of the office located in the corner of the second floor of the castle.
"The door's unlocked, Harry, come in," Lynch's gentle voice came from inside.
Harry pushed the door open and went in.
Lynch's office was still neat and tidy, but the warm flames in the fireplace dispelled some of the chill. Lynch was not sitting behind his desk, but standing by the small coffee table next to the fireplace, pouring freshly brewed black tea into two cups. The air was filled with a faint aroma of tea and a comforting scent, similar to that of old books and cedar.
"Uncle Lynch," Harry greeted softly.
Lin Qi turned around, a faint but genuinely gentle smile on his face.
Because in the office, his signature gray suit jacket was hanging on the hanger, and he was wearing a gray vest with a white shirt, which made him look less like a professor and more like an elder.
"Come sit down, Harry." He gestured to two comfortable armchairs beside the coffee table. "This is freshly brewed tea. I remember you don't like it too strong, so I added milk to this one."
Harry felt a warmth in his heart, walked over and sat down, and took the warm cup of milk tea.
Uncle Lynch always remembers these little things.
Lynch sat down in the chair opposite him, picked up his teacup, and instead of getting straight to the point, looked him over with concern: "How have you been lately? Looking at the shadows under your eyes, has the training been too strenuous? Maybe you should talk to Captain Wood and tell him not to push himself too hard."
Harry held the warm cup, feeling the heat travel through the ceramic to his palm.
He pursed his lips, trying to force a smile: "It's...it's alright. Training is a bit tiring, but it's okay."
Lynch wasn't fooled by his evasive answer. His grey-green eyes looked at him gently yet insightfully: "It's not just training, is it? I heard Ron and Hermione aren't getting along?"
Harry sighed, his shoulders slumped, and he opened up without any reservations in front of Uncle Lynch.
"It's because of Scabbers," he said sullenly. "Ron thought Crookshanks ate Scabbers and had a huge fight with Hermione. They hardly speak to each other now." He felt a wave of annoyance; it was painful to be caught in the middle of his best friends falling out.
"Spotty—" Lynch repeated the name softly, his eyes flickering almost imperceptibly, but quickly regaining their gentleness. "That mouse, I heard it stayed at the Weasleys' house for many years. Ron must be very sad. I hope it just got lost and will come back safely." His tone was filled with genuine regret.
He then offered a suggestion: "Misunderstandings and frictions are inevitable between good friends. How about this, next Hogsmeade weekend—I think it's early next month—you could try inviting them along. The Three Broomsticks' Butterbeer is always a good way to lighten the mood, or you could pick out some novelty sweets at Honeydukes, or Zonko's Joke Shop can always help you forget your troubles for a while." He looked at Harry gently. "Sometimes, a relaxed setting, giving each other a way out, can naturally make a lot of unpleasantness fade away. True friendship isn't that easy to break."
This suggestion was practical and gave Harry a glimmer of hope in resolving the conflict between his friends.
"Thank you, Uncle Lynch, I'll give it a try." He nodded earnestly.
Lynch then gave Harry a few more suggestions, recommending some fun places in Hogwarts.
Then, he picked up the teapot and poured Harry some more hot tea, seemingly casually steer the conversation to a deeper level. His gaze was gentle yet penetrating: "So, putting aside your friends—what about yourself, Harry? Lately, have you been preoccupied with many other things?"
Upon hearing this, the slight relief on Harry's face vanished instantly, replaced by a suppressed anxiety and a sense of powerlessness.
He fell silent, his fingers unconsciously fidgeting with the armrest of the chair, his gaze fixed on the steaming teacup.
After a long while, he finally raised his head, his gray-green eyes filled with complex emotions.
"I—I can't get Blake out of my mind, Uncle Lynch." His voice was low and heavy for his age. "I know he's the one who killed my parents, I know he's out there wandering around—these thoughts are constantly on my mind."
His tone didn't contain any fierce declaration of hatred, but rather a weariness that was suffocating him from the weight of reality and a deep sense of powerlessness.
"I hate him, without a doubt." Harry's voice was low, filled with clear hatred. "Ron and Hermione helped me do a lot of research and analysis. I know what he did, I know what a cruel traitor he is. I know he's wandering around Hogwarts, maybe in some corner of the Forbidden Forest, or hiding somewhere in Hogsmeade—"
His tone became agitated, filled with intense resentment and frustration: "But there's nothing I can do! I can't sneak out to find him like he did when he infiltrated the Gryffindor Tower! Not only do I have no idea where he is, but even if I did, those Dementors at the border would be there before I even get close—"
He shivered and didn't continue, but his pale face said it all.
He never wanted to experience that feeling of being stripped of all joy and plunged into cold despair again.
The shackles of reality and the deadly threat firmly held his impulse for revenge in place.
Lynch listened quietly to Harry's outburst, and after he calmed down a bit, he said in a tone that was both serious and caring: "First of all, I'm glad that you clearly understood the danger of the Dementors and didn't have any unrealistic thoughts about sneaking out on your own."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Harry: "Secondly, Harry, you must understand that if you really try to leave the school grounds without permission and get caught—regardless of whether you encounter Black or a Dementor, the first consequence you'll likely face is expulsion from Hogwarts."
The word "expulsion" hit Harry like a piece of ice, instantly bringing him to his senses.
Lynch observed his reaction, his tone softening but remaining firm: "Your parents entrusted you to Dumbledore, to Hogwarts. This is your home, your strongest fortress. You know very well what losing this sanctuary means. Anger and hatred are powerful forces, but don't let them cloud your judgment and push you into even more dangerous situations."
Harry took a deep breath. Uncle Lynch's words were like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the restless flames within him. Though unwilling, he knew it was the right thing to do. He couldn't lose Hogwarts.
"I—I understand, Uncle Lynch." He lowered his head, his voice muffled. "I won't do anything reckless."
"Very good." Lynch nodded with satisfaction. "Remember, patience and waiting sometimes require more courage than blind action. Trust us, Harry, things are moving in the right direction."
Harry nodded. Although the weight on his chest hadn't lifted, the urge to do something recklessly was somewhat suppressed by reason. He finished the rest of his tea, feeling heavy-hearted but no longer so chaotic.
He stood up, ready to take his leave.
"Wait a minute, Harry," Lynch called out to him, and stood up as well.
He walked to the desk and took the Stone Tower Merchant Guild emblem from the drawer. His movements faltered almost imperceptibly for a moment as the cold metal touched his fingertips.
Handing over this badge would mean officially pushing him to the edge of a storm. Even though this storm was man-made, even though everything was calculated, the danger was still real. The Dementors' chilling touch, the Dark Wizard's curse, and the unknown variables in the plan—all of these could ultimately affect Harry through this badge.
A barely perceptible hesitation flashed across his eyes, but it was immediately covered by a stronger sense of reason and determination.
He had no choice; this was the only path to the ultimate truth and reckoning.
For the sake of a longer-term future, some risks must be taken.
He turned around, held the badge in his palm, and handed it to Harry, his expression returning to its usual composure.
"Keep this safe."
Harry took the badge; it felt cold and heavy to the touch.
"I've made some minor adjustments to the magic on this," Lynch explained, emphasizing calmly, "It now carries a powerful protective spell. The specific details are rather complex, and you don't need to know too much. You just need to remember it, and be sure to do it—"
'
Lynch's gaze was fixed on Harry's eyes as he emphasized, "From now on, whatever you do—go to class, training, even just walking around the castle—you must carry it with you. Ideally, don't keep it inside your robes; keep it close to your body. Understand?"
Harry looked at the badge in his hand, then looked up at Uncle Lynch's solemn expression.
Although he didn't quite understand why the badge he was about to take was suddenly returned, Uncle Lynch had never harmed him, and this concerned his safety.
"Okay, Uncle Lynch." Harry didn't ask any further questions, and carefully held the badge tightly in his hand. "I'll always carry it with me."
"That's good." Lynch's face showed a hint of relief. He reached out and gently patted Harry's shoulder. "Go back now, don't think too much."
Harry carefully placed the badge into the inside pocket of his robe, said goodbye again, and left the office.
The door closed behind Harry.
The gentle expression on Lin Qi's face slowly faded. He stood silently in place, his gaze seemingly piercing through the wall, landing on the boy who was walking further and further away.
London, Ministry of Magic.
Barty Crouch sat behind his large, sparsely decorated desk, his face so dark it seemed to drip water. Before him lay a report on the recent raids and searches of dark magical artifacts, but his mind was elsewhere.
Since Christmas, a feeling of unease has lingered over him.
On the surface, he remained the same meticulous and impartial director, dealing with Fudge's increasingly urgent urging to capture Sirius Black and handling the complex cases and search warrants of the Enforcement Division.
But only he himself knew how tightly the string in his heart was stretched. His fortress, the home he had carefully built, which hid the darkest secrets, had been invaded in an extremely subtle way.
The incident occurred shortly after the grand banquet at Malfoy Estate.
The apology note from the house-elf Sparkle, brought back by the "Muggle father and son," immediately caught his attention. His professional vigilance made him subconsciously check the contact information left on the note.
This investigation sent chills down his spine.
The address is fictitious, the name does not exist, and the so-called "accidental firing of firecrackers" is utter nonsense.
That was an elaborate hoax, designed to distract Shining!
So, during that created, brief "gap period," did the Malfoy elf who sneaked into his house really just stay obediently in the storage room, waiting for Gilgamesh to come back and continue counting the gifts?
Crouch absolutely refused to believe it.
He immediately and secretly examined all the protective magic and records of magical traces in the house.
The result both relieved and unsettled him—aside from the faint magical fluctuations of the house-elf Dobbina used to levitate the gifts and tap the objects, no other strange, aggressive, or obviously spying magical traces were detected.
Everything seemed too "normal".
But it is precisely this "normality," combined with that fake note, that constitutes the greatest abnormality. The other party's methods were extremely clever, leaving no substantial evidence.
What are they looking for? What do they suspect?
A name struck him almost instantly—Barty Crouch Jr.
His son, who should have been rotting in Azkaban, was secretly switched by his ailing wife and has been hidden ever since.
Once this secret is exposed, Barty Crouch's political life, and even his personal freedom, will be completely over.
A surge of immense fear and an even deeper sense of resolve welled up within me at the same time.
He cannot afford to take any chances.
Almost on the night he confirmed the note was fake, he personally took action and, using an illegal key, moved Barty Jr., whom he controlled with a powerful Imperius Curse, from his home to a safe house that he himself rarely visited and that had no connection to the Crouch family's public assets.
This process was extremely cautious and delicate, almost exhausting him.
Having dealt with the most fatal hidden danger, Crouch's anger and suspicion turned entirely towards the person who started the incident.
who is it?
Malfoy?
This is almost beyond doubt.
At that time, only the Malfoys' elves were in his house.
Is this Lucius Malfoy's personal revenge, or a backlash from the entire pureblood faction against his past hardline policies?
Crouch recalled how he had used an iron fist to suppress the Death Eaters and how he had repeatedly and ruthlessly issued search warrants to raid the estates of several pure-blood families, with Malfoy Manor being a particular target.
It's perfectly logical that they harbor resentment and want to find fault with him.
"Want to play with fire? Then let's see who gets burned to ashes first!" Crouch stared at the sign hanging on the office wall...
The badge symbolizes the authority of the law enforcement department, with a sinister gaze.
Despite Fudge's growing anxiety and increasing pressure regarding Black's situation, Crouch was determined to prioritize addressing this imminent threat against him personally.
Using his authority and resources as Director of the Enforcement Division, he personally issued copies of raid warrants for several pure-blood family businesses, as well as subsequent "notices of rectification for violations."
He couldn't find conclusive evidence of the Malfoys' elves spying, but that didn't stop him from launching a comprehensive "punishment" against the pure-blood faction led by the Malfoys under the guise of "maintaining the security of the wizarding world" and "combating the illegal circulation of dark magic items."
With that thought in mind, Crouch picked up a draft proposal from the corner of the table—a proposal to further tighten regulations on the trading of certain magical materials in ancient family vaults—and began to review it, a cold, hard line forming on his lips.
He wanted to show those people the price of touching Barty Crouch's sore spot.